


whatever a moon has always meant

by BurningFairytales



Series: i carry your heart with me (JereJean Fluff) [1]
Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, M/M, adoption au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningFairytales/pseuds/BurningFairytales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy walks over to the cot and picks their still crying son up.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Their son.</i></p><p> </p><p>Jean allows himself a smile at the thought.  He watches as Jeremy cradles him to his chest, gently rocking back and forth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever a moon has always meant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everythingthatmatters](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=everythingthatmatters).



> This whole thing only exists because my friend and I watched a game of box lacrosse - I bet on the Buffalo Bandits, saying that I would write her a 500 word fic of her choice if the team lost.
> 
> She chose 500 words of fluff. The Buffalo Bandits _did_ lose.
> 
> And it's.... it's not as fluffy as it would have been if anyone else had written it, because I suck at writing fluff, but she said she liked it anyway, and I guess that makes it okay x)

The crying is what wakes Jean in the middle of the night.

He stays still for a moment longer, blinking against the darkness and the burning of his eyes. Once. Twice. A third time, before he can keep them open.

Next to him, Jeremy rolls over. Sighing theatrically, he puts an arm over Jean’s stomach and rests his forehead against his shoulder.

“We could leave him on someone’s doorstep,” he says playfully. “It’s not too late. No one would have to know.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Jean replies, even as he leans closer to Jeremy. “After all we did to get to this point.”

Jeremy hums in reply. “You’re right,” he says. And then, “You stay in bed. I got this.” He presses a kiss to Jean’s cheek and moves to get up. This is the way it’s been since the beginning, Jeremy is the one that gets up at night. It’s just, there’s a tiny part of Jean that is inexplicably afraid of the child sleeping in the next room, but he knows that he needs to get over it eventually.

He catches Jeremy’s wrist and holds it lightly.

“I’ll come with you.”

The nursery is illuminated by a small bedside lamp – orange and covered in paw prints; a gift from the former Palmetto Foxes when they heard the news. There’s a big teddy bear sitting in the corner, probably about forty inches high, and it’ holding a pink heart with the words “ _Je t’aime_ ” written on it. Jeremy had gotten that when they’d gotten everything sorted and the adoption was finally approved. He’d grinned at Jean, so open and proud and _happy_ that Jean couldn’t object to putting that thing into the room.

Even in the dim light he can see the glittery writing.

Jeremy walks over to the cot and picks their still crying son up.

_Their son._

Jean allows himself a smile at the thought.  He watches as Jeremy cradles him to his chest, gently rocking back and forth.

“Shhh,” he coos. “Shhh, it’s okay. We’re here. It’s okay.” He speaks in low, soft tones; alternates between whispering reassurances and gentle humming. Jean watches him. He has seen Jeremy kind – Jeremy has _always_ been kind – but there is a whole new gentleness in the way he holds their son, fragile and soft. Jean could watch forever.

The crying quiets down a little after a while, but doesn’t disappear entirely. Jeremy takes a few steps closer to Jean. “Will you hold him?”

And this – this is still an issue of unease for Jean. It shouldn’t be, by any right. He knew what he was getting into. It’s taken them a while to decide they were ready. Jean loves their son, he does.

But he so, so breakable, and so innocent, and Jean still looks in the mirror sometimes and sees the person he was when he wore black and the mark on his cheek was the tattoo of a “3” instead of a faint scar. He just doesn’t want to taint that innocence by who he used to be.

He hesitates – just for a moment, but Jeremy sees.

“Jean,” he says. “I won’t make you hold him if you think you’re not ready. But I know what you’re thinking. I can see it in your eyes. You’re not that person anymore – you’ve never been that person. That was all Riko; it was never you.” He takes one more step in his direction and kisses him softly. “I love you. I _love_ you,” he says again, when Jean opens his mouth. “For exactly the person you are. And I think you _are_ ready.”

Jean stares at him for a moment longer, and then slowly holds his arms out. Jeremy practically beams at him, and places their son in his arms.

It’s awkward at first – Jean doesn’t know what he’s doing, but Jeremy guides his arms in the right position. _‘I’m here,’_ he’s saying. _‘We’re in this together.’_

The words aren’t spoken aloud, but Jean hears them anyway.

Their boy sobs again, upset about the change in position, and Jean looks at Jeremy, who raises his arms in a go-ahead gesture.

Not exactly knowing what he’s doing, Jean starts rocking back and forth, gently, in mimicry of what he’d seen Jeremy do earlier. “Hey – shhh,” he says, helplessly. “Shhhh, _mon petit chou. Mon coeur. Ne pleure pas._ ”

That’s what he keeps doing, rocking him and mumbling French endearments, and finally – _finally_ – the baby stops crying. Jean chances a look at him, only to find that his eyes are closed; chest moving slowly up and down.

He’s asleep.

It’s so... peaceful. Jean doesn’t quite believe that this tiny being would fall asleep in his arms, so tranquil. So trusting. There’s an emotion there, in his chest, that he can’t name, and it spreads; making him feel warm inside. He looks to Jeremy, because maybe Jeremy knows, and finds his husband staring back, a serene smile on his lips. He puts a finger to his lips, and gestures to the cot.

They leave the nursery as quietly as possible, and only when they make it back to their bedroom does Jeremy grab Jean’s shirt and pull him in for a kiss.

“I love you, you know that?” he whispers against his lips.

Jean kisses him again, more softly, before burying his head in the crook of Jeremy’s neck.

“I love you, too.”

He doesn’t say it often – doesn’t say it nearly enough and he knows it. He buries his fingers in Jeremy’s shirt to stop them from shaking, and his voice is still shaky with emotion, but he thinks now that, as a family, they’re going to be okay.


End file.
